


Ebeneezer Zechs

by elleavantemm



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Preventers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleavantemm/pseuds/elleavantemm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zechs does not want to host a Christmas party, even if Relena insists it's a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebeneezer Zechs

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the prompt "eggnog" for the winter round of the livejournal Advent Challenge.

Hosting a Christmas party was not Zechs Merquise’s idea of a good time.

He didn’t understand the appeal of inviting a bunch of semi-familiar people from work, along with a bunch of holding-your-past-against-you friends into his home and plying them with food and alcohol to celebrate a holiday that he didn’t particularly believe in. Unfortunately this year, his baby sister Relena, Vice Foreign Minister Peacecraft, had shown up outside his apartment at some god-awful hour of the morning and told him without the barest hint of sympathy, “Milliardo, you’re acting like a child. It’s been five years, and you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and become a functioning member of society again.”

Relena was the only person who called him Milliardo, and it drove Zechs a little batty. He tried to make this known to his sister by slamming the door in her face, but she had stood there for over ten minutes insistently knocking on the door, and Zechs was suffering from far too severe a hang-over to allow her to continue for longer. The second time the door opened, he had invited her in, if only to prevent his neighbours from hearing first-hand what a worthless excuse for a human he was (if they didn’t know already).

“I’m not really sure what you expect me to do, Relena,” he told her with a heavy sigh, pouring a healthy couple fingers of bourbon into a glass and knocking it back.

His sister frowned, disapproving. “Well, Milliardo...”

“Relena... please. Could you call me Zechs? It hurts too much to be associated with the name Peacecraft.”

Relena hesitated before repeating the statement with the preferred name. “Well, Zechs...” and it was far more bizarre to hear that name come out of her name that it was the other. “I think it might be a nice idea for you to throw a Christmas party. You could invite some of your work mates from the Preventers!”

Just what Zechs dreamed about - inviting work home with him. “While that may be a nice idea, Relena, I don’t think it’s a particularly good one.”

“Why not? It would at least mean that you’re socialising outside of the squalid depths of those dive bars you seem to enjoy so much.”

Zechs stared hard at his younger sister - the Vice Foreign Minister, five years running. “Nice to know you’re keeping tabs on me.” A soft flush crept along her cheeks, confirmation of what had been hedging suspicion.

“I’m just concerned about you.”

“Fine. I’ll throw a Christmas party. It’ll be fun.” Zechs knew it wouldn’t be fun and he regretted his agreement as soon as the words left his mouth.  


+++

Zechs made a minimal effort to decorate his modest apartment. He purchased a small, pre-lit table tree that stood about two-feet high, adorning it with a single solid coloured garland and some pathetic home-made gingerbread decorations that the young girl on the first floor had made and generously donated to the cause. The tree had no topper, because Zechs didn’t care and was sure that with a crowd it would likely get broken anyway.

The guest list was comprised almost entirely of co-workers, as his sister had suggested. Relena had pointedly not been invited to the soiree. Lucrezia Noin, Zechs’ on-again-off-again girlfriend, showed up a couple of hours before the party with a box of decorations and a few bags full of Christmas baking and other assorted party treats. She didn’t seem to mind that Zechs sat on the sofa in a sulk as she moved about the room, hanging garlands and snow-flakes and even a string or two of lights. By the time she was done, the apartment looked positively festive, and Zechs wanted to vomit.

“There. That’s better,” she said, flopping down onto the sofa next to him with a sigh.

“It looks beautiful, Noin,” he said flatly, and the woman shoved him with her elbow.

“Would it kill you to pretend to have some holiday cheer?”

“Yes. Possibly.”

Noin levered herself up off the sofa with an annoyed huff. She stepped into the small kitchen - more of a kitchenette than anything - and poked through the cupboards. “Jesus, Zechs. Don’t you have anything around besides alcohol?”

“There might be some cola or orange juice in the fridge; but I mostly just use those for mixers.”

“What happened to you?” she asked sadly, leaning against the counter.

“Life happened, Noin. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up again.”

Thankfully party-guests began showing up a short while later, armed with bottles of booze or cases of beer and, naturally, not a scrap of food. Zechs made a pathetic effort to mingle with his guests, frequently making excuses to escape to the bar table and refresh his glass; nobody really seemed to notice or care.

The party took a turn for the awful when Duo and Quatre arrived an hour or so into the festivities with a large camping cooler they informed party-goers was full of home-made eggnog. “It was a lot easier than I was expecting it to be,” Duo said, setting the cooler down at the end of the bar table and flipping the lid open to reveal the thick, softly-golden mixture.

“We might have gone a little heavy on the alcohol,” Quatre admitted with a shrug. “But once you have a glass or two, it goes down pretty easy.”

“Oh man! Did you make your own nog?” asked a young Preventers agent named Carter. He grabbed one of the plastic cups from the table and dipped it into the cooler. He came away from the cup with a sputter and a laugh. “Wow, that’s rough. Tastes awesome, though.” Duo gave Carter a firm slap on the back, helping him through the burn of the alcohol.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Zechs said, taking a small bit of eggnog into a glass, “what prompted you to make your own eggnog?”

“Interest. Curiosity,” Duo replied casually. “It’s the holidays after all.”

“It is the holidays,” Zechs repeated, tipping the cup back. Quatre hadn’t been joking about going heavy on the alcohol. Yet the liquid has the appropriate nog flavour, if not a little bit chunky. Chunky? “What method did you use to make this?”

That one where you heat the cream and then add it to the eggs? Surprisingly easy.”

“Have you tasted this at all?”

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“I think you maybe curdled the eggs.”

Duo furrowed his brow, while Quatre groaned. “What do you mean curdled?”

“It means that we added the hot cream too fast and the eggs scrambled.”

“Ugh, gross. Are you sure?”

Zechs pulled a face and dropped his cup into the garbage. “Yes. I’m sure.”

The three men turned at once when across the room there was the tell-tale sound of someone throwing up... on Dorothy Catalonia’s shoes. Carter was bent in half, cup of nog abandoned on the floor as he heaved again. “Someone get him to the bathroom!” Dorothy shouted, recoiling as another fountain of vomit erupted from Conner’s mouth.

Things went rapidly downhill from there. Other party-goers who couldn’t handle the sight of others being sick, began to feel ill themselves, and soon enough the small apartment began to empty until only Duo, Quatre, Noin, and Zechs remained. No one said anything for a long time, trying to ignore the smell of cleaning products that hung heavy over the smell of vomit.

Zechs was working on a fresh glass of bourbon, occasionally rubbing at his eyes and sighing. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Hey, no one could have predicted that this would happen,” Quatre said in an attempt at consolation.

“You’re joking, right? Christmas parties almost always turn out this way. At least you didn’t find anyone having sex in your closet.”

Quatre groaned and covered his face. “Do you have to bring that up every year?”

“So long as it is relevant, I will remind you of it.”

“Guys... look, I appreciate you sticking around to help clean up, but maybe it’s time to go.”

There was an awkward pause. “Sure. Of course, man. No problem.” Quatre and Duo grabbed their coats and packed up the cooler of eggnog, calling “Merry Christmas” over their shoulders as they stepped into the hallway.

Noin folded her jacket and hovered by the door. “Are you sure you want me to leave?”

“Please, Noin. Just... thanks for your help.” She raised her hand in a half-hearted wave, closing the door behind her.

It didn’t go unnoticed that Noin left behind the food she had brought - mostly untouched. He poured another glass of bourbon and leaned back on the sofa. Across the room the lights on the Christmas tree blinked merrily, a silent mockery of the bitterness that Zechs was feeling. These are the rewards you get for trying to extend your social interactions. He’d have to remember to send Relena a thank you card signed with a heart-felt _fuck you_ , Zechs thought to himself as he munched idly on a gingerbread man.


End file.
